


It's Dark Inside

by winterwaters



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Aftermath, Alternate Universe - Future, Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Grief/Mourning, Rebuilding, Some Fluff, duh I'm not totally gone, kids vs adults, post 2x12
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winterwaters/pseuds/winterwaters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“We're at war and a warrior does not mourn those she's lost until after the battle's won." - Indra, 2x12</p><p>---Aftermath of the war with Mount Weather. Both the kids and adults struggle to come to grips with their actions, and Clarke and her mother reach a crossroads.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Dark Inside

**Author's Note:**

> So I loved this line from Indra in 2x12, and it got me thinking about the aftermath. Also, to be clear, I wrote this from Clarke's POV so of course it sounds like I'm on her side, and I am, but I also get where Abby's coming from. I just need my babies to stay alive and reunite and help each other because they are all so many levels of messed up at this point. Okay I'm done.  
> A little different from my usual stuff (well, I think so), but hope you like it anyways!

It’s been a little over a month since her friends returned from Mount Weather, bruised and beaten but somehow not broken. There weren’t enough words for her gratitude when she saw them stumbling towards her, and what followed was essentially a pile of bodies as they took comfort in each other. She’d even reached out an arm and pulled Bellamy into the fray, not loosening her grip until he gave in and laid his head on her shoulder.

Physically, they’re all in one piece - for the most part. That’s more than she can say about their sanity. Personally, Clarke feels like she’s being pulled in every direction during the days that follow - between her mother’s disapproval, the Grounders’ expectations, the adults’ judgment, and her own wrecked moral compass, it’s all she can do to keep herself upright.

The others don’t appear to be doing much better. Lines crease their gaunt faces, shadows linger in their every gaze, but most of all, the mistrust seethes from every pore in their body. They stick together for the simplest tasks, never allowing any member of their group to remain alone for even the shortest amount of time. It's been breathed into their bones at this point, and the way their eyes flit about camp at ghosts most people can't even _imagine_ makes the adults skittish.

Clarke sadly thinks that maybe everyone’s finally starting to resemble the delinquents they were labeled as for so long.

Initially, she tries to separate herself from the group, convinced that her past actions will alienate the only people in the world who matter to her anymore. She steels herself when they ask about Finn, giving them the truth in a flat tone of voice and bracing herself for the revulsion that's sure to follow. It'll just make it easier to to be on her own, she tells herself. Less worry, less heartache, less pain. 

But to her surprise, they refuse to let her go.

It’s Bellamy who’s most stubborn about it all. The boy who knew about monsters long before she ever did is the one who digs his heels in the hardest, the one who staunchly refuses to let her shoulder any burden alone. It would make her cry, if she had the tears left. The others follow suit without a second thought. When he’s not standing right by her side - which, lately, is rare - Clarke turns to find Jasper or Miller or even, at times, Harper, in his place. Her protests, feeble as they are, do nothing to sway them, and one day Jasper slings an arm around her shoulders with a hint of his old carefree smile and tells her to shut up and stop wasting her energy. The sob rises in her throat so fast she has to hug him, quick and hard, her fingers digging into his back. 

It's Harper who steels her against the whispers and glares. The girl never quite loses the eerie look in her eyes, but it doesn't unnerve Clarke the way it does the others. If anything, she recognizes it, even though she knows it's for completely different reasons than her own. Jasper's told her that it’s Harper who bore the worst of the experimentation, and it’s her screams that ring out across camp nearly every night. 

When it’s not her, it’s Monty.

Sometimes Bellamy, too.

Clarke hears it all because she doesn’t sleep much anymore. If and when she allows her eyes to close, it’s only for a few moments, because otherwise she’s shaking and adding her own voice to the night, locked in a nightmare she can’t escape. 

But about a week after their return, there’s a shift. Clarke drops into her tent one night exhausted to her very bones after tending to a strange flu-like illness that’s taken down even the strongest of the adults. Her feet haven’t stopped moving until right now, and so she welcomes the darkness that swallows her the moment her head hits the mat.

It's not long after that she wakes up in a cold sweat, the explosions and screams still ringing in her ears as she blinks the tears from her eyes. It takes her several moments to register that she’s not alone, but encased in strong arms on her mat, her face pressed into cool black leather. Bellamy’s soothing voice murmurs into her ear until her shakes finally subside. She clings to him long afterwards, unsure of when she drifts back into sleep, just that she does so in the security of his hold.

When she wakes again, she’s still surrounded by him, but there are other low murmurs in her tent now, too. She twists in his grip to see Monty and Jasper sitting close together by the entrance. Harper’s head lays in Monty’s lap, her body stretched out sideways on the ground. He absently squeezes her shoulder when she shifts in her sleep. The two boys speak barely above a whisper, but for once they don’t look nearly as haunted as usual, and it makes her heart clench.

Bellamy’s arm tightens around her stomach and Clarke puts her hand over his, turning back to face him. His eyes are pained and sad and understanding, and when he gently brushes her hair she buries her face into his jacket and says nothing.

The next morning it happens again, except this time Raven is at her shoulder too, floating somewhere between wakefulness and sleep. Bellamy lies by her side, his breaths coming slow and even, and for a moment Clarke just watches him, the lines erased from his face and the callouses on his palms grazing her hip. Miller sits by the tent flap, speaking softly to someone outside.

For the first time in a long time, Clarke finds peace in her thoughts. 

It’s come to the point that none of them rest alone anymore, just crowd into whoever’s tent is closest that night and sit and talk or sway tiredly against one another. They sleep in turns, having created their own odd little schedule of shifts to watch over each other. 

Sometimes these moments are the only thing that get her through the day. 

~~~~~~~~

She and her mother argue almost all the time. Sometimes it’s over small things; other times, not so much. Despite her efforts to confine herself to the medical unit, Clarke can’t help but voice her opinion on certain matters when she just _knows_ there is a better option than what is being presented. If there’s one thing she’s confident about, it’s that her knowledge of the ground supersedes theirs. 

And if she can stop someone from getting hurt, then she will, whether she has to wound her mother’s pride or not. 

Bellamy only encourages it, constantly reminding her that she lead them for a long time and that if anyone needs to second-guess her, he’ll deal with them. “When I’m the one second-guessing you, then you’re free to worry,” he adds with a hint of his old cocky grin. The sight of it lifts her heart for days.

But the arguments become tiresome, grating on her nerves with their repetition. It’s like she and her mother are a broken record, a vicious cycle that has no hope of stopping. 

_You’re too young; Age doesn’t matter here._

_That’s none of your concern; It involves my people, so it is my concern._

_You’ve done enough; Not nearly._

_I’m the chancellor; And I’m still in charge._

Clarke knows it’s coming, the moment when she can’t keep pretending like this is working. She’s putting it off, telling herself that something will work itself out, because it has to. But it’s one sunny morning when her mother finds her in medical that Clarke feels her resolve begin to crumble.

“I did not sanction a mission to the bunker,” she says loudly.

Clarke sets her jaw, patting her patient’s shoulder apologetically before turning around. The others in the room have lowered the eyes, waiting with baited breath. "It wasn’t a mission,” she replies coolly. “The bunker was less than half a day’s walk. It was a quick trip to survey it.”

“You don’t get to decide that.” It takes everything Clarke has not to roll her eyes as she brushes past her. But her mother isn’t deterred, following closely at her shoulder. “This was not your call, Clarke.”

Clarke sighs, pressing the heels of her palm into her forehead for a moment. Motioning to another girl - Aiyla - she tells her to take over, reminding her to sterilize the used equipment with moonshine when she’s done. Then she turns and walks out of the ship, her mother on her heels. At this hour, the camp is bustling with life, and Clarke knows that no matter what, this conversation isn’t going to be private. Nor will it end well.

“We needed the supplies,” she says, struggling to keep her voice even. “The other bunker we raided had so much preserved. The Grounders have already said the cold weather is approaching early this year. It made sense to go back sooner rather than later.”

“You aren't listening, Clarke. You shouldn’t have made that decision.”

Clarke stops abruptly and whirls around. “And why not? Because I’m too young? Because I can’t possibly know what I’m doing?” She spreads her arms wide. “Because I’m just another one of the criminals sent down here to die?”

Her rising voice attracts every eye in the camp, but she can’t help it anymore.

“You know I don’t think you’re a criminal.” Abby crosses her arms defensively. “But you _are_ a child, Clarke. I can still see that even if you can’t.”

“No,” Clarke says tiredly. “You’re seeing what you want to, but not what’s right in front of you. I haven’t been a child since the day we set foot on the ground.”

“How many times are you going to blame us for that? We did what we thought was right.”

“I’m not blaming you,” Clarke insists. “I’m _reminding_ you. You say you did what you thought was right. Well that’s what I’m doing, too. It’s all _we_ can do.”

They stare at each other for a long moment, neither willing to back down. A wave of tiredness rushes through her, and her anger mingles with sheer exhaustion. "What do you want from me?” 

“I want Clarke back,” her mom says desperately, pleading. “ I don’t know who this person is in front of me, but it’s not her.”

Now the anger is swift to climb to the surface. “How many times can I say this? This _is_ me. This is who I am. The Clarke you’re looking for died the moment they floated dad!”

Her mother’s eyes widen and she takes a step back, but Clarke is just getting started. “Look around you! This isn’t the Ark anymore. This is the _ground._ You sent us down here without even knowing if we'd live to see it. So you don’t get to judge what came next. We did what we had to do to survive. And we will keep doing exactly that.”

She’s trembling now, breathing hard and trying to stop the pounding in her skull. She hates, _hates_ that her mother is looking at her like she's a stranger, like she's a lost cause. Then a strong hand squeezes her shoulder, and for a moment Clarke can breathe again. She looks up into assured dark eyes.

“That’s enough,” Bellamy says sternly. The reprimand is directed solely at her mother.

Abby grits her teeth. “This is between me and my daughter.”

“Really?” Bellamy leans on his rifle, deceptively casual. “Because a moment ago it sounded like you thought your daughter was gone.”

Her eyes narrow. “You forget your place,” she says lowly.

But Bellamy only gives her a grim smile, eyes hard. “No, actually, I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

Clarke twists her fingers into the back of his jacket as they stand there, battle lines drawn in the dirt. She looks around at the camp, at the alternately wary and exhausted and tense faces, and the weight of it bears down on her shoulders until her knees hit the ground.

She’s tired, so tired.

Bellamy crouches beside her, the hand on her shoulder gripping her so hard she knows she’ll see its impression the next day. “Clarke,” he whispers, and now his voice cracks a little, his own weariness showing. She wants to tell him she’s okay, but she’s afraid if she opens her mouth she’ll just start screaming and never stop.

He touches his forehead to hers, their noses brushing softly. It’s the smallest thing, the most intimate gesture he’s ever offered outside the safety of their tents, and it’s exactly what she needs to remember she’s not alone in this. Not by a long shot.

Another hand grasps hers, the grip careful but firm, and not nearly as soft as she remembers. Clarke opens her eyes to see Jasper kneeling on her other side, his eyes blazing with determination. Monty stands behind him, a hand on his shoulder and the other clasped tightly in Harper’s. They look at her, and she’s not on a pedestal anymore, she’s just a kid who had to grow up too fast, just like them. And she made mistakes, they all did, but they're _alive_ and hell if she's going to waste one more second of that.

Monty gives a small nod, and she knows.

_Where you go, so do we._

There are bodies behind her, too. Clarke can feel the heat as they gather, hears the snap of twigs and the crunch of dirt underfoot as they come to stand in silent support. Miller taps Bellamy’s shoulder with two fingers, offering a small salute when he looks up. When she turns her head, a red jacket catches her eye and Raven’s gaze finds hers, and holds.

“Get up, Clarke,” she says.

Bellamy’s hand on her shoulder trails down until his fingers are woven with hers. Jasper’s grip tightens, and together they pull her to her feet. 

Her mother has taken in all of this with a shaky glance, though only Kane comes to stand by her side. Clarke looks between them and knows what her decision has to be. Her mother has strong support here. She’ll be alright. But Clarke knows they can’t continue like this, or they’ll both break. 

Her people deserve better. 

The camp shifts restlessly, unsure of what’s to come. Clarke steels herself and stands shoulder to shoulder with her friends. “This can’t go on any longer. I- _we_ are not the same people we once were. I won’t let you impose the same archaic rules on us again.”

Her mother exchanges a glance with Kane. “So what do you propose?”

“I propose nothing,” Clarke replies. “You can continue on here however you like. Without us.”

“What?” Abby steps forward, aghast. “Clarke, you can’t-”

Bellamy shifts slightly, partly angling his body in front of hers. “I think maybe it’s time you stop telling her what she can or can’t do,” he interrupts. “In case you haven’t noticed, she can, and she will.”

“We’re not so helpless anymore,” Jasper adds starkly. “You made sure of that.”

“And if you didn’t, the Mountain Men did,” Bellamy says. The anger in his voice hasn’t lessened since the day he returned.

Clarke squeezes both their hands reassuringly. “I’m tired of fighting. All we’ve done since day one is fight - with each other, with Grounders, with Mount Weather, and now with you. If we’re all going to live here, it can’t be in the same camp. We won’t last the season.”

Her mother is shellshocked, eyes wide with alarm. “There has to be something-”

“There isn’t.” 

It hurts to say so, but it’s not any less true. 

“Where will you go?” It’s Kane who asks, curious but otherwise not aggressive.

Clarke and Bellamy exchange a glance. “Not far,” she says after a moment. “Tondc is still being rebuilt. Octavia has said they could use the extra bodies. We owe them that much.” Her voice catches, and she forces herself to take a deep breath, drawing strength from those around her. “After that, we’ll see.”

Bellamy’s hard gaze roams the camp. “Anyone who wants to can join us. But don’t expect anything to be easy.”

In an unspoken agreement, their group breaks and scatters to their tents to collect their meager belongings. Clarke is left holding onto Bellamy’s hand so hard she thinks she might break bone. She leaves her mother with a final request. “If you’ll allow it, I would like to take a few medical supplies with us. Just to start out. We can trade for the rest once we settle in.”

Her mom is only able to nod, still processing everything that just happened. Clarke offers a tight smile before Bellamy tugs on her hand, and then they’re heading for his tent. She takes a deep breath as they step inside. 

He turns to her, a hand cradling her cheek. “You okay?” 

Clarke swallows and presses a kiss to his palm. “Yeah,” she says quietly, then repeats it a little louder. “Yes. I am.”

And it’s true, she realizes. Even as difficult as that was, her chest has lightened just a bit at the thought of things finally changing. She will not fall victim to the pattern; she will break it, with help. Bellamy smiles and touches his forehead to hers again, their hands intertwining. Her eyes close and she breathes him in, lets herself bask in the unerring sense of safety he brings. They stand like that for a long while.

~~~~~~~

The goodbyes are short and quick - Clarke insists it’s because they aren’t permanent. She says it both for her mom and for herself. She needs to believe it. And when her mother returns the hug just as tightly, for a moment she does believe. They’ll preserve their fragile bond, somehow. 

To everyone’s surprise, it’s not just the kids that leave, but several adults, too. Raven berates Wick for being dumb enough to join them, an endless stream of insults spilling from her lips as they march through the gate. But he only pauses once, bending to carefully adjust her brace, and her words abruptly stop. When he rises, Clarke catches sight of a tear that slips down her friend’s cheek before she gruffly marches to the head of the group. He's right at her shoulder the entire way.

They reach Tondc by nightfall. Octavia takes one look at their worn faces and full packs, and wraps each of them in a silent hug one by one before ushering everyone inside the village.

After a quiet dinner, Clarke and Bellamy stand off to the side as darkness cloaks the sky, watching the Grounders and kids tentatively interact. In a strange way, the two groups understand each other better now. Each has fought hard and sacrificed much - too much - in order to get to this moment, and it shows. It’s a fragile connection, but a connection nonetheless. _Demons are demons, no matter where you go,_ Clarke thinks.

Then Bellamy puts his arm over her shoulder, and hers slides around his waist under his jacket. “We can do this,” Bellamy says, and she squeezes him tightly, more grateful than ever that he’s standing by her side.

“I know.” 

Clarke hopes that as they begin to rebuild their life here on Earth, maybe they can begin to rebuild themselves, too. They have to. They will.

Her friends are all she has left in this world. They will make their own salvation.

**Author's Note:**

> title from Demons by Imagine Dragons


End file.
